


Of Happy Endings

by Evandar



Series: 100fandoms Challenge [3]
Category: Greta Helsing Series - Vivian Shaw
Genre: Don't copy to another site, F/M, Family Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Moving On, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, spoilers for book three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evandar/pseuds/Evandar
Summary: She could remember catching him looking over her shoulder, that little smile playing on his lips, and turning around to see her father watching them from the doorway. Time has faded it a little, made the memory fuzzy around the edges, but she can remember the glow of happiness in her father’s eyes as he watched them together, the smoky-richness of his laugh. In her childish selfishness, she didn’t see the love that was between them than – only knew them to be friends.
Relationships: Fastitocalon/Wilfert Helsing - past, Greta Helsing & Fastitocalon, Greta Helsing/Francis Varney
Series: 100fandoms Challenge [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1432576
Comments: 7
Kudos: 24
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Of Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empty_marrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_marrow/gifts).



> I was so happy to get this assigment! I love these books so much, and your prompts for Greta and Fass were brilliant. I hope you enjoy reading this.
> 
> Happy Yuletide, empty_marrow!

It was good to see Fass again. He’d agreed to abandon his post as Archdemon and Head of Hell’s M&E department for a few days in order to celebrate the opening of Dark Heart’s monster rescue centre. It was a project that Francis and Emily had come up with, inspired by well monsters and screaming skulls; Greta had supported them whole-heartedly, delighted that they would have something to do with the property’s many outbuildings and be able to help the supernatural community at the same time. 

And Fass, one of their dearest friends, had agreed to come and be there. He _was_ there. But he was awfully distracted for someone who was meant to be celebrating, constantly checking his mobile for alerts in a way that he probably thought was subtle. He kept smiling too – odd little smiles that reminded her strangely of her childhood.

“Are you sure we aren’t keeping you from your work?” she asked after the fifteenth non-subtle check. Fass blinked up at her, his eyes flickering orange briefly as a faint flush infused his cheeks. He coughed awkwardly.

“No,” he said. “I mean, it won’t ever stop. There’s still a lot of Asmodeus’ mess to wade through, although it’s a little less urgent now that the rift’s been healed, and there are still our current monitoring stations to gather data from – and we’re having to renovate half of them! But no, Greta, it’s nothing I can’t step away from.”

She hummed. She knew what it was like, of course, to have a job that placed huge demands on time – as one of only a handful of doctors who treated the supernatural community, Greta was constantly in high demand. But as busy as Fass no doubt was, she doubted that his work was causing that little smile to quirk the corners of his lips. _That_ smile was, she knew, similar to the ones she wore around Francis, or when she glanced down at the ring that adorned her finger; it was the same as the one Grisaille and Ruthven wore when they looked at each other. 

It’s the smile he used to wear around her father, she realised. _That_ ’s why it was so familiar. She could remember him tutoring her, sitting on the floor in his too-dignified suits and explaining the horrors of mathematics to her – extremely bored – younger self. She could remember catching him looking over her shoulder, that little smile playing on his lips, and turning around to see her father watching them from the doorway. Time has faded it a little, made the memory fuzzy around the edges, but she can remember the glow of happiness in her father’s eyes as he watched them together, the smoky-richness of his laugh. In her childish selfishness, she didn’t see the love that was between them than – only knew them to be friends. There were no announcements, no kisses that she saw, nor handholding. Just Fass as a constant presence, and secretive smiles that she only now recognised because she finally had something to compare them to.

She sat next to him at the kitchen table, propping her chin on one hand and studying him intently. She, at least – the fragile human of the group – had been driven in by a torrential deluge reminiscent of the ones that had plagued the country before the near-apocalypse, and while Fass had volunteered to join her at the house for tea – and while she certainly appreciated his company – in a lot of respects, he hadn’t joined her at all. While physically present, his thoughts were elsewhere - with the sender of those mysterious messages. She knew he could hear her thoughts; he’d been in her head for years, protecting her mind from outside influence – a protection he’d given her father, too. He’d loved him, and he loved her – albeit in a very different way – and now he loved someone else. She knew it.

She nudged him with her foot. “Are you not going to tell me, Fass?” she asked.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replied. He picked up his teacup and sent her a stern look over the rim. “You can keep your meddling to your vampires. Hasn’t Ruthven popped the question yet?”

“No, he hasn’t,” she replied smoothly. “And it’ll probably be Grisaille that asks, anyway. He’s impulsive. Edmund is far more likely to overthink himself into an absolute disaster. Who’s messaging you?”

“Overthinking into a disaster is Varney’s speciality, but he managed fine.”

She kicked him this time. Gently, certainly, but definitely a kick. Mostly because he was right.

“Not everyone has to be happily married off, Greta,” he said. He sipped his tea. His other hand dropped to his side, fingers tracing where his phone sat secure in his pocket. He jerked it away when he realised what he was doing, that she’d noticed.

“I’ll settle for happy, Fass,” she told him. “And you are, I know it. I’m just… I’m curious.”

He grumbled, but it was good natured as it had ever been – again, similar to how it had been when she was a child, and to when she had been his physician before he’d been allowed back into Hell. He’d always hated fussing, and apparently her sudden interest in his love life was enough to count as interference on the same level as insisting he keep better care of himself and invest in central heating. The look he gave her informed her that he’d definitely heard _that_ thought, and she hid her grin behind her own teacup.

“Father would be happy for you, you know,” she said once her cup was returned to its saucer. She hadn’t really thought about it – she’d only realised that they’d been a couple about five minutes ago – but she knew she was right. Her father had always been kind. He’d been generous to a fault, with his heart as well as with his time. He’d been strong and overwhelmingly intelligent, but most of all, Greta remembered his gentleness. He _would_ be happy to know that Fass had moved on at last, that there was a chance of him finding joy in some other person. 

Fass swallowed. “I know,” he said. “Wilfert was that kind of man.”

“Yes,” she said, and she nudged him with her foot again. “So?”

“Marriage has turned you into a horrible gossip,” he complained. “Almost as bad as Ruthven.”

“It would take centuries of careful cultivation to be _that_ bad,” she said. She sighed. “I won’t pry anymore, I promise. But, Fass. I’m happy for you too.”

She stood, gathering up her cup and saucer. She leaned over, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, breathing in the scent of magic and ozone that clung to his skin. She felt him sigh and lean into the touch briefly before she pulled away.

The rain that they’d been avoiding had paused. She turned to place her cup in the dishwasher, already thinking of joining Francis and Emily and the others down at the stables; already mentally searching for her wellies. She absently moved one of the screaming skulls out of the sink – it squeaked as she picked it up. 

“Samael,” Fass said behind her. “It’s, well. Sam.”

She looked back at him. His phone was in his hand again and that little smile was curling at the corner of his mouth. She smiled back at him. Her step-father and the Devil. Having met Samael and seen them together, she could easily picture it.

“I’m happy for you,” she said again. “For both of you.”

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Thank you, Greta. Now, you said something earlier about a kelpie?”

She let the subject change as they tidied away their dishes and found their boots, and she didn’t try to change it back as she slipped her arm through his and guided him through Dark Heart’s muddy gardens down towards the – previously ornamental – lake where an injured kelpie had been allowed to take over. 

She wouldn’t pry. She _did_ , however, make sure he knew before he flipped back to Hell that the Devil was always welcome to visit them too.


End file.
